


footprints on pavements

by Spield



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Kakashi is the ultimate guardian, Multi, Older Sarada, non-massacre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18316148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spield/pseuds/Spield
Summary: Sarada confronts the man who she should've called father.





	footprints on pavements

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something that popped into my head while I was thinking how it's possible that Sarada can hate Sasuke.

Sarada knows she’s beautiful, objectively.

In front of her hotel room’s full-length mirror, Sarada smooths down her skirt and fiddles with her collar before reaching for her lipstick by the desk.

Ever since puberty, she’s known she’s eye-catching. Boys have praised her small face and smooth skin, while talent scouts gushed over her high cheekbones and long lashes. A classic beauty, they said, like a doll. They’ve awed over her dark eyes and lips, and as she grew older, her features even grew sharper, more defined.

The world never lets her forget she’s beautiful. With her pale skin, black hair and black eyes – all her father and none of her mother.

She sneers at the mirror- even something so ugly looks beautiful with her father’s features- and she hates it.

\--

_Itachi-san is polite_ , Sarada muses, watching the man across her walking around his unit preparing tea and snacks.

It’s a relatively small place, not at all the sharp bachelor pad she was expecting. The walls are pale yellow and soft, the fire-yellow of the setting sun casting it to the richness of gold. There are potted plants on the window sill, brushed over by a translucent curtain at every blow of the wind. There are books stacked neatly by the kitchen island and bottles of dried crushed herbs line up above the stove.

“How can I help you, Sarada-chan?” Itachi asks, setting down the biscuits and tea. The familiarity of the name weighs heavy on his tongue. It’s a name he hasn’t spoken but frequently thought of.

Sarada sips the tea – mint ¬¬– and nibbles at the cat-shaped biscuit served. She swallows and lifts her eyes to Itachi’s, his eyes, almost a mirror image of hers, and flits to his ear, then to his nose then back to his eyes again. He sees the steel in her gaze and how the curtain shutters close before she speaks – level and quiet.

“My mother is dead.”

A tea cup crashes to the floor and the tea spills like blood, it weeps.

**Author's Note:**

> how ghosts can influence the living


End file.
